


credere

by Shinkirou



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Fic Exchange, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Relationship Study, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinkirou/pseuds/Shinkirou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuja didn’t wake up for two weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	credere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



> Prompt: Kuja/Zidane - Their similarities and differences, and a way for Kuja to actually trust Zidane. I prefer post-game, but could take place before that, if you subscribe to the theory that Kuja died afterwards. Perhaps this can take place in the time between the Iifa tree going nuts and Zidane returning to Garnet? Further prompts: the use of magic, silk sheets, desert sands.
> 
> More thanks than I can ever give to my wonderful, flawless beta, justira. 
> 
> I apologize in advance as my brain sort of took the story and ran, so it may not have stuck to the prompt all that well.

**I**

Kuja didn’t wake up for two weeks. 

Or, rather, he didn’t wake up for two weeks after Zidane had woken up, which was worse. For the blond, those two weeks were filled with restless sleep -- he’d been shoved back into bed by Mikoto the minute he’d tried to get up to check up on his half-dead... what? Friend? Brother? Former enemy? Roommate, Zidane decided. Mikoto had put them together -- likely to torture Zidane further. She’d waited a week to even let him stand, and the minute he tried he knew why -- his wounds still hadn’t healed completely and suddenly _everything_ hurt, blood rushing from his head and making him so dizzy he had to sit immediately again to stop himself from passing out. Mikoto had asked him if he was okay, and in order to keep even these slightest privileges, he had lied about the pain and said, “Yeah, just dizzy.” He was thankful when she didn’t seem to notice he wasn’t telling the truth -- then again, the genomes were still learning about emotions. Still, he didn’t attempt to stand again until she left the room, just to be safe.

He hated the feeling of being confined to a room, so used to being free. Kuja was just across the room, hidden from sight by only a sheet hung from the ceiling for reasons he didn’t really understand -- it wasn’t as though he would be startled by the wounds, he’d seen them all up close. Not to mention they had to look at least somewhat better by now. They’d been asleep for nearly three weeks, as Zidane had learned from Mikoto. He was permitted to stand and walk, but he wasn’t allowed out of the room, and any attempts to sneak out ended with more pain than they were worth. 

The smell bothered him, too -- potions always smelled strong and herbal, and being confined in a small space intensified the odour. Thankfully, the window -- on Kuja’s side of the room -- was open, at least, so the overwhelming stench of medicine could ventilate a bit. It wasn’t particularly helpful, though. Zidane wondered vaguely how many bottles of the stuff had been used on the two of them, and where they came from. He’d probably have to restock them soon. It was almost a shame Kuja hadn’t made white mages when he made the black mages, but then again, they were created as tools of war. Disposable ones. Healers would have been pointless. And the genomes had no grasp of magic at all, having never been instructed on how to use it. Maybe when Kuja woke up… 

He was going to go stir-crazy. More often than not he sat on the windowsill, alternating between looking out the window and staring down at Kuja’s paler-than-usual face, watching for signs of awareness. Mikoto didn’t seem to care, as long as he didn’t try to escape out the window (and had it barred for just that reason), or agitate his wounds. She brought him food, occasionally -- usually just simple soups with some meat in them to help get his strength back. Zidane didn’t envy Kuja, who simply was fed potions every once in a while. No doubt he would wake up starving. Though, at least his wounds were healing well. At first there had been horrible wounds -- anyone else certainly would have died, but Kuja had always been fairly resistant to injuries. Taking a head-on attack from Bahamut and escaping nearly unscathed, save for some minor bleeding, proved that. The blond might have thanked Garland, if he didn’t hate him so much.

Occasionally Kuja would twitch in his sleep, and Zidane would watch intently to see if he ever actually made any attempt to move, to no avail. He sometimes fell asleep in the chair next to Kuja’s bed, arms folded on the edge of the mattress, head resting atop them. Mikoto usually scolded him (without any real heat) when that happened, telling him that sleeping like that was probably aggravating his wounds, but he usually just waved her off, saying he felt fine. It wasn’t really even a lie -- since he’d woken up and been able to stretch, forcing his too-relaxed muscles back into use, he’d begun feeling much better. At first it had been torture, of course, but now moving was fine, as long as he didn’t try anything particularly acrobatic. Being stuck in such a small room meant he wouldn’t have anyway. 

After the first week, his sleep became even less frequent, wanting to be sure he didn’t miss Kuja waking up. Mikoto seemed to notice, but as long as he wasn’t falling over dead, she didn’t really have any reason to complain. Eventually Zidane just tugged the curtain dividing their spaces down, though he still sat in the chair while he was awake. There was no point in the flimsy sheet remaining up, particularly if he was just going to duck behind it every day anyway. At least this way if Kuja moved and Zidane wasn’t in the chair, he could stand a chance at seeing it.

The days passed uneventfully. Zidane sat and waited, eventually wondering if holding out hope would even be worth it.

  
**II**   


The day Kuja woke, two weeks after Zidane, was utter chaos.

It had, of course, been one of the rare times Zidane was asleep that Kuja finally fluttered his eyes open (probably just being contrary, Zidane thought bitterly a bit later) and rolled over, completely disregarding the fact that he had been heavily wounded. That was what made Zidane wake up -- Mikoto’s (startlingly) surprised cry as she chided Kuja for moving so quickly. Zidane had barely sat up, and to his shock, Kuja had switched to sitting up, too. He didn’t even seem to be in any pain, though he did look like he might be sick. His eyes were furrowed shut, and a pale hand was clenched tightly over his chest, gripping the borrowed shirt so tight Zidane figured it would probably rip. The clothes looked strange on him, Zidane mused absently, as he hadn’t really paid attention to them while Kuja was sleeping, too busy worrying over whether he’d wake up or not. Certainly a huge change from how he used to dress , considering he now wore a simple shirt and shorts, not dissimilar to how the other genomes dressed, save for the lack of colour. Mikoto brushed Kuja’s bangs carefully out of his face, ignoring the way he jerked away from her hand, and pressed a cool cloth to his forehead.

By that point, Zidane was standing, moving slowly towards Kuja’s bed in an effort not to startle him. Of course, Kuja turned to look at him so abruptly that it was actually Zidane who ended up startled. Their eyes met, and the blond glanced away in a moment of uncertainty. Had he done the right thing? Having his face turned away left him surprised when Kuja said his name and nothing more, voice working as though he hadn’t just woken from being asleep for nearly a full five weeks.

“Yeah?” Zidane replied, and his own voice creaked a little on the reply (and man, that was embarrassing if he paused to think about it).

But Kuja hadn’t responded, so Zidane had glanced back up and wandered closer, getting over himself and his temporary lack of confidence before sitting on the edge of the bed, next to Mikoto. The female genome moved slightly out of the way, but neither male acknowledged it, Zidane too worried and Kuja seemingly lost in thought. “You okay?”

Kuja snorted a quiet laugh. It lacked humour entirely. “Physically or mentally?”

Zidane scraped his foot against the floor. “Both, I guess.”

“Physically I am fine. How many potions did you make me drink…?” He’d made a slightly disgusted face at Mikoto before continuing without an answer, “regardless, my wounds have healed and nothing hurts. Mentally… Well, I must admit I am surprised, I suppose. I was quite certain I would not survive your little rescue mission.” Kuja had turned to stare out the window, then, abruptly, “Mikoto, could I have a glass of water?”

She nodded and left the room quietly, and the second Kuja was sure she was out of earshot, he turned back to the younger male, face carefully neutral. “Why did you come after me?”

“Huh? I already told you, I don’t need--”

“-- a reason to help someone, yes, so you’ve mentioned.” His expression darkened with a scowl. “But even if you feel you should just help people who need it, there was every chance I would not survive, and you could have died, as well. It was close for the both of us.”

“Aw, were you worried about me?” Zidane asked, grinning slightly, in an attempt to derail the questions. It didn’t work -- Kuja’s flat glare told him that it was not appreciated, either. He sighed. “Well, Kuja, believe it or not, I wanted to save you.”

“I believe you, but _why?_ Zidane, I’ve single-handedly started a war that destroyed the four nations, created the black mages as tools of war, wiped out all but two survivors of a race, destroyed a planet… The list goes on. What reason could you have possibly had for wanting to save me?” 

Knowing Kuja wouldn’t drop it until he had an answer, Zidane sighed. “… I wasn’t sure I could, but even if I couldn’t, nobody should die alone. Sure, you’ve done some terrible things, but you’ve also done good things. The mages mostly thank you, y’know. They know you’ve done a lot of awful stuff, but to them, you gave them the chance to live. Even if it’s short, they’re happy to have experienced it.” He paused, shifting his weight awkwardly before continuing, “And I know you could have easily destroyed Terra before we had the chance to get off of it… I don’t know why you waited, but you saved the genomes then. You’ve had any number of chances to kill me and my friends, too, and you haven’t taken those. And it was you who put me on Gaia as a kid, right? If you hadn’t done that, I would have been fighting alongside you, trying to destroy the planet I now consider home… So, I wanted to at least thank you, even if I couldn’t save you.”

Embarrassed, Zidane bristled as he glanced away, suddenly finding the carpet incredibly interesting. Silence blanketed the room, and just as he was beginning to wonder if Kuja had fallen asleep or something, the latter cleared his throat. “Well, I can honestly say I was not expecting something like that from you.”

Zidane glanced back up, agitation at having said so much getting the better of him and making him snap, “If that’s a jab about my smarts--”

Kuja was waving his hand dismissively before Zidane could even finish his sentence. “It wasn’t. You would know if I were insulting your intelligence. I only meant that such a heated response caught me off guard. I had figured your motivations much less noble than that, and I suppose I am sorry about that, if nothing else. You have shown me no reason why I should expect anything less from you.”

Caught off guard, Zidane found himself unable to respond and wondering what was taking Mikoto so long with that water. Apparently Kuja felt awkward about his own words, too, because a second later he was smirking, “Zidane, skirt-chaser and Gaia’s hero, speechless? If I’d known it was that easy, I would have made you flustered long ago.”

“Oh, shut up--” but he was smiling, taking the words as they were intended, “-- you’re the one who’s always talking. Seriously, have you ever listened to yourself?”  
“It would be fairly hard not to, I would expect, unless I was deaf.” 

“Yeah, well, you talk way too much. Especially when you’re saying something you don’t want to say. I wish you could be a little more honest.”

“Men are often more honest when they use someone else’s words, Zidane. Being honest as oneself is an incredibly difficult thing to do…”

Zidane nodded slowly, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. But just for the record, you can be honest with me, okay? I promise I won’t judge you or anything like that.”

Kuja tilted his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t comment. The awkward feeling in the air was palpable, and seriously, how long did it take to get a glass of water around here? If they had to sit there in uncomfortable silence for much longer, Zidane was sure he would start blabbering about the weather or some other useless topic. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, Mikoto came back with the glass of water, apologizing for taking so long, and completely unable to detect the mood in the room.

  
**III**  


Kuja refused to stay in the village longer than absolutely necessary.

“Where will you go?” Zidane asked, cautiously, not wanting to let on that he planned on going with him. 

No such luck, of course. “Why would you care? You are most certainly not coming with me.”

“Why not?” He didn’t bother pouting or trying to deny that he wanted to, knowing both would make Kuja even less inclined to deal with him. Lying when he already knew the truth was just stupid. Still, he had every intention of following even if Kuja told him not to, and the mage was too weakened to really put up a fight. He seemed tired all the time, and Zidane was actually wondering if Kuja was even well enough to be moving, but Kuja insisted on getting out of the village as soon as he possibly could.

“Because you are annoying and I would rather not have to babysit you. Besides, should you not be on your way back to Alexandria?”

Zidane hesitated, not wanting to relay his thoughts to Kuja, and replied carefully, “I’ll go back eventually.” He wasn’t really looking forward to marrying a princess -- King was not a title he figured he should ever be holding. He was a thief, and an actor -- certainly not prime king material. Not to mention all the meetings and decisions… Politics he wouldn’t understand… The more he thought about it, the more he realized he really didn’t want to return. Certainly, he’d miss Garnet, but... Zidane crossed his arms and finished lamely, “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Kuja must have noticed his shift in mood, because he scowled and huffed shortly, “Fine. You may come with me, but the second you irritate me, I will throw you to the antlions.”

“… Wait, antlions? Like, the things in the desert?” At Kuja’s _’obviously, you idiot’_ stare, Zidane bristled a bit, slightly embarrassed, and continued, “But we destroyed your desert palace!”

“No, actually, you’ll find that you did not. You caved in an entrance, but that is all. Actually, there are almost certainly still monsters inside… With any luck, one of them will make a meal out of you, so that I need not deal with you myself.”

Zidane clasped one hand dramatically over his heart, the other gesturing grandly, “Your words wound me! Do you really want me to die so badly?”

Kuja graciously ignored the theatrics and replied calmly, “If you don’t live to see nineteen, Zidane, I am immortal. I will not lie, that is incredibly tempting.”

Zidane seemed a little put off, but then his brain clued in to what Kuja hadn’t said, and he grinned. “That’s not a ‘yes’.”

Kuja grimaced, turning away, “… It isn’t a ‘no’, either.”

_’No,’_ Zidane thought, still smiling as he followed Kuja to go see Mikoto, _’but it’s progress.’_

  
**IV**  


The journey was actually much less painful than Zidane had feared.

They had no airship, the Hilda Garde III being in Lindblum while the Invincible was with Garnet in Alexandria, so Zidane had figured they would be walking. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world- at least they wouldn’t have to pass through Conde Petie again, that had been… _interesting_ \- but he hadn’t been looking forward to it anyway. Their wounds had healed, but that didn’t mean nothing could happen on the way. He had been thankful to be proven wrong, though his first thought upon seeing Kuja preparing to cast a spell was _’is that really a good idea?’_

Kuja must have been reading his thoughts (either that or Zidane’s worry was just that obvious), because he scowled without looking away from where he was casting. “I am fine, Zidane. If I weren’t, do you really imagine that Mikoto would even consider letting me up, let alone grant me leave?”

The blond snorted. “Would it stop you even if she hadn’t?”

Kuja’s lips quirked up a bit at that, half smirking and not bothering to reply as Zidane knew the answer even before he’d asked. Of course, that didn’t make Zidane feel any better- Kuja’s admittance that he would have done this regardless of whether or not he was in an acceptable condition doing nothing to make Zidane’s worry dissipate in the slightest. He inched closer, trying to make it seem like a subconscious gesture, but the dry look Kuja shot him told him that he was not falling for it. Undeterred, Zidane gave up on subtlety and simply walked over, standing close as he peered over the spell being crafted in the space before them. He recognized the soft blue light for what it was- teleportation- and grinned despite his reservations. “Snazzy.”

Kuja looked vaguely scandalized. “Surely you did not think we would be walking.”

“Actually, I did. I wouldn’t have made you use this much magic so soon after waking up.” Zidane replied, glaring over at Kuja, though it went completely ignored as the mage did not take his eyes off the spell.

“Well, as you can clearly see, I am fine. No collapsing due to overexertion or anything. So do stop hovering around me; I will send Mikoto to find you when I am finished.”

“As much as I would like to believe that, I can tell you’re almost done. Planning on leaving without me?” Zidane was grinning despite his jab and his smile only widened when Kuja scowled. 

“You’re only perceptive when it’s inconvenient for me, aren’t you.” 

It wasn’t really a question, but Zidane beamed obnoxiously and replied cheerily regardless, “Yup! But really, you told me where we’re going, so if you’d gone alone, I would have found my own way. But it would have sucked, and I might have gotten hurt on the way or something so then you’d have to look after me, and wouldn’t that just be a pain?”

“Who would have to look after you? If you were injured by being careless and following me of your own volition, I’d leave you to look after yourself.”

“Man, you’re so mean to me!”

Kuja ignored the remark, as well as Zidane’s overdramatic sigh at the end of it, finishing up the spell without glancing away. Moments later, with Zidane peering at the spell, Kuja pulled away from it and blinked as though he hadn’t for quite some time. That was probably the case. Cautiously, the younger male leaned in, and Kuja seemed to bite back the temptation to shove him in and seal it, hands twitching at his sides. Zidane grinned at the motion and glanced back over his shoulder with a tiny laugh. “Before you shove me in head first, is it at least finished? Goes to your desert palace? You should at least give me that much of a fighting chance.”

Kuja nodded, then amended, “My old bedroom, more specifically. It is one of the safer places, since monsters have not touched it since I made it. But yes, it is safe to go through, if you are ready.”

“We should say goodbye to Mikoto and the others.”

Kuja snorted. “You go ahead and do that, Zidane. I will be on the other side of this portal, and I will close it in ten minutes, whether you’re through or not, just so you know.”

Zidane scowled, unimpressed, as he grabbed Kuja’s arm to prevent him from stepping into the soft blue light of the teleportation spell. “No way! Kuja, seriously. I won’t make you talk to the other genomes or black mages but you have to at least thank Mikoto properly. If it weren’t for her, you definitely wouldn’t be talking to me right now, ‘cuz you would have died, and I won’t let you run off without at least saying thanks to her.” 

They stared at each other stubbornly for a few seconds, and while Kuja’s crippling glare would usually be enough to make Zidane back off, the latter was determined, and Kuja apparently tell he wasn’t going to win this one. His eyes darted away, looking suitably reproached, and he conceded with a grumble. “I suppose you are correct, this time. But if you so much as call over one of the other genomes I will be through the spell and have sealed it shut before you can even do so much as blink.”

Figuring that it was better than nothing, the blond nodded agreeably. “Fair enough. Now, let’s go find her, shall we?”

As it turned out, they didn’t need to find her at all, as the second they’d turned to wander back into the main circle of houses in the village, Mikoto had appeared, staring at them with that still mostly-emotionless expression of hers (and all the other genome’s). Zidane waved happily and she frowned, and for a second Zidane considered telling her she had her emotions backwards, but then she spoke, calm and collected, “I don’t think you should really be leaving this early, Kuja.”

Zidane didn’t need to turn to know the expression that Kuja would be wearing, particularly when he heard a derisive snort from somewhere behind him. “Well, consider your opinion duly noted, though I must say I am certain I drank enough potions that some other town’s stock is severely depleted, let alone your own. Still…” He paused a brief moment before continuing, sounding sincere, “Thank you, Mikoto. If it weren’t for your attentive care, I am aware I would not have survived, and so I am grateful to you.”

She nodded, still looking blank, though the hint of a smile could be seen on her face as she replied, “You’re welcome.” Just as quickly as the smile had come, it vanished, replaced by something that looked like it was trying to be stern, but just wasn’t intimidating at all. Her eyes met Zidane’s, and she continued, “I expect you to look after him. Even if he claims he is fine. Probably even particularly when he says so. Will you promise me that you will?”

Zidane felt a little taken aback, but nodded anyway, surprise melting away to a smile. “You didn’t even need to ask, ‘Koto. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him.”

She nodded in response, though a faint shadow of confusion flickered across her face at the nickname. “Good. Take these elixirs, just in case--“ Zidane started protesting over them, half unwilling to take them due to their rarity, half annoyed that they’d been fed so many potions to recover when they had elixirs, but Mikoto kept on speaking anyway, “-- because he just used a lot of magic and we do not yet know if it will cause problems. If anything happens, bring him back if you cannot deal with it amongst yourselves.”

Zidane was nodding again, before tacking on a quick, “Yeah, no problem. And thanks, Mikoto, for everything. You really did save us.”

She nodded, then gestured to the teleportation spell still fluttering with power behind them. “Farewell, then. I will see you at some point in the future.” Apparently she hadn’t quite gotten sayings and such down yet, but it was better than nothing.

It wasn’t until he turned back to the portal that he remembered why he hated traveling by magic. The second his fingers grazed over the spell, he felt like he had been punched in the stomach, oxygen fleeing his lungs rapidly as he tried to convince himself not to panic --

It had taken all of a few seconds, and when Zidane opened his eyes, they were standing in Kuja’s old bedroom, as promised. It took him a second to get over his shock of traveling by magic- and the warm blue light in his memories was nagging him again, though he now knew that it had just been the light of teleportation magic. He was startled out of his reverie by Kuja clapping his hands together, once, determinedly, before he spoke. “Well,” he muttered, glancing around before continuing, “let us check the extent of the damage, shall we?”

  
**V**  


The desert palace was, indeed, for the most part, unchanged.

There were subtle signs left over from what must have been his comrade’s struggles (and a flicker of guilt passed through him momentarily at the fact that he had left them with Kuja, but it was in the past and he’d had no choice), but for the most part, it seemed unaffected by anything worse than dust, which had settled over everything like a fine mist. Kuja had resealed the teleportation spell behind them, murmuring about not wanting just anyone to be able to wander in and out of his room freely, which made total sense, but Zidane knew it was just because Kuja didn’t want to have anything to do with the black mage and genome village. Ever, probably. Still, Zidane hadn’t pushed or complained, instead heading off, daggers in hand, to see what sort of monsters were still lurking about. 

He’d been moderately surprised when there were very few; also somewhat annoyed, as he had been relying on them to help get him back to his former condition. The potions had healed the wounds, yes, but lying around for weeks did nothing for his physique. (And somehow, of course, Kuja looked no different at all, despite having slept longer and having been more injured to begin with…) The lack of monsters meant he was headed back to Kuja’s room fairly quickly, but even as he’d barely been gone two hours, the path back already looked much cleaner. Still as annoying to navigate, but at least no longer covered in the fine layer of dust.

He found Kuja in his room, reading on the bed, and something occurred to him, perhaps belatedly. “So, where am I sleeping?” 

Kuja sighed and looked relatively displeased. “Here.”

Zidane looked surprised. “Eh? Like, we’re sharing a bed?”

A snort. “Unlikely. You are sleeping on the floor. I will have my bed.”

“Wha- oh come on! Why can’t we just share?” 

“Trust me, that is not even remotely an option for any number of reasons.” Zidane blinked, scandalized, and sputtered a bit, before Kuja finished with an agitated huff, “don’t look at me like that, I never said what those reasons were, you’re the one jumping to conclusions. Filthy minded plebeian.”

Zidane fought down his blush. “… Alright, whatever. But I know you’ve got pillows like everywhere, why can’t I just sleep on those?”

“Because pillows go on furniture, Zidane, not on the floor. Besides, I rather like having my pillows to myself, thank you very much. You are the one who decided to come along regardless of what I wanted anyway, and so you can deal with such a small thing.”

“What if I wake up aching?”

“That isn’t really my problem now is it?” Kuja replied calmly, turning a page idly.

“Your bed is huge, why do I have to sleep on the floor? I’m not worried about you kicking me or anything, if that was one of the reasons.”

“You know, your insistence on sleeping with me is growing most alarming…” Kuja said, pulling an expression between alarmed and disgusted perfectly. 

Zidane could no longer fight back the blush. “… You phrased it like that on purpose so I’d back off.”

Kuja smirked lightly, ruining his acting, though he didn’t seem to care. “Well, yes. It worked, did it not?”

Zidane beamed, getting over his embarrassment, “Nope! If you wanna play it like that, you picked the wrong guy to compete with.”

“That’s really more than I needed to know.”

“What?” Zidane asked, confused, then embarrassed all over again when his brain caught up with the implication, “-- Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that!”

Kuja hummed in question, smirk underlying his words. “Hm? And how are you assuming I meant it? That’s quite the interesting expression on your face.”

Zidane’s brain had apparently decided to shut down, because the best thing he could think to say was, “You’re a jerk.”

Kuja turned away, hands half raised in an almost-shrug, hiding the smug grin that Zidane could hear in his voice, “And you are a witless imbecile if you just figured that out now.”

“Do you always need to be so harsh? But if you think you’ve distracted me from the topic, you’ll have to try harder than that. Come on, what reasons could you have to not be willing to share? I promise I don’t kick or anything.”

He didn’t get an answer for a bit, but the mood suddenly shifted when the silvery haired genome sighed, and replied cryptically, “Perhaps someday you will find out.” Kuja continued to wander away, and though Zidane did not understand why, standing in the same spot he had been, he felt that he had somehow failed.

The floor was comfier than expected, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong anyway. He barely slept, and from where he was lying, he could tell that Kuja didn’t sleep much either. In the morning, he told himself. In the morning, he would talk to Kuja again. Waiting a few hours certainly wouldn’t change anything, right?

Somehow, even that thought didn’t make him feel any better.

  
**VI**  


It came to him abruptly like the jolt of a thundaga spell.

“You still don’t really trust me.” 

The words rang out and echoed in the otherwise silent room. Kuja seemed a little startled by Zidane’s sudden accusation, hands clenching lightly against the arm of the chair, but hid it well enough that anyone who hadn’t been looking for it -- anyone who wasn’t Zidane -- wouldn’t have seen it. The mage seemed to debate over what to reply with, and settled for a quiet sigh. It hadn’t been a question, but, “No, I do not.”

Even though he’d figured as much, hearing it still stung. The expression must have showed on his face, because Kuja sighed again, this one much heavier -- “You and I are nothing alike, Zidane. I cannot simply… change my nature and trust you, just like that.”

It was irritating, but that did make sense. Kind of. “Okay, I get that you have issues trusting people, but can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Zidane didn’t rise to the bait, for once. “I already told you why I saved you. Isn’t that enough to convince you? I haven’t turned you in --“

“Yet.” Kuja interrupted, scowling. “You haven’t _yet_. How could I know if that’ll change? I have much to atone for, Zidane.”

“I know. But there’s a lot you haven’t told me, yet. You probably haven’t told anyone, actually, if I’m not mistaken, and that could change things…”

“That would depend on what you’re asking about now wouldn’t it?”

Right, beating around the bush never worked with Kuja. He was far too stubborn to just say it without prompting. “I wanna know what you made me forget --”

“I barely ‘made’ you forget anything, Zidane, you were _four_ when I dropped you on Gaia.”

Ignoring the interruption, Zidane finished, “-- and what life was like on Terra. For you.”

Kuja didn’t even pretend to consider it, scowling as he replied immediately, “Absolutely not. I’ll give you back your memories, but there is certainly no chance that I am telling you anything about Terra other than what you remember.” 

“Oh, come on! Kuja!” Zidane had known that getting worked up wouldn’t endear him to Kuja any, but was unable to resist, since Kuja had started it by being stubborn first. That was something they had in common, he noticed, with a hint of a scowl: their sheer stubbornness when they believed they were in the right. (He was thankful for it, though, because that determination to live had probably helped save Kuja’s life.) 

Kuja ignored the childish outburst, countering with a quick and efficient, “If you’re not going to turn me in anyway, what would it matter what my past was like?”

Zidane scowled, realizing he’d set himself up for that. “I was just curious. It has nothing to do with whether or not I’d turn you in, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It would be fairly difficult not to think that, when you just finished saying ‘that could change things’.”

Zidane flinched, cursing his own phrasing again. “Yeah, yeah, I dug that hole myself, I get it. Would you at least consider it? Seriously? I don’t even see why you wouldn’t want to…”

“Nice try, Zidane, but you should know by now that tricks like that do not work on me. But I did say I would return your memories, so come here and hold still.” He gestured impatiently with his hand and Zidane wandered over with a pout on his face, but sat obediently in front of the mage, head tilted back to rest on his knees (and the greaves dug painfully into his back, but there wasn’t much he could do about that). Kuja didn’t do anything for a minute, and Zidane hesitantly opened his eyes, staring up at Kuja, who was staring down at him like he’d just realized something. 

“What is it?”

“You… Really trust me, don’t you? Despite having no reason to…” A hand rested lightly on Zidane’s bared throat, and he blinked in surprise but made no motion to pull away. A nail dragged across the flesh, and that made him jerk, but he quickly muttered “that tickles” to show that it wasn’t for lack of trust. Kuja sighed. “Honestly, I could kill you right here, right now, and you would never even have a chance…”

“Yup. You sure could,” Zidane replied, closing his eyes again, unwilling to feed Kuja’s depressive mood. “And I’m trusting you not to. That’s sort of how trust works.”

He didn’t need to have his eyes open to notice Kuja bristle. “I am quite aware of what trust is and how it works, Zidane, do not patronize me. Just because I do not trust anyone does not mean I do not understand it.”

Zidane nodded slightly, wincing when that made the metal dig into his neck harder for a second. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that yeah, I trust you, and yeah, you could kill me right now, but I know you won’t.”

Kuja's scowl was evident in his voice, “Just for you saying that, perhaps I will.”

Zidane smiled, eyes still closed as he replied quickly, “Alright, go ahead.”

Obviously not expecting such an easy response, Kuja paused a brief moment before sighing, defeated. “You are quite the strange one.”

The blond snorted lightly in reply. “Coming from you, that’s pretty funny. Now, you gonna give my memories back or not? Your greaves are really not comfortable.”

“I never said you had to sit like this, Zidane, but since you are here, stop talking and keep your eyes closed.”

“Then why were you sitting like that?“

“Really, Zidane, have you never heard of comfort? And I knew you were moronic, but I figured even someone such as yourself would be able to comprehend the meaning behind the phrase ‘stop talking’. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

Zidane opened his eyes and mouth, ready to tell Kuja off, but the mage glaring down at him made him fall silent. He jumped a bit in surprise when surprisingly cold fingers brushed his hair back from his temples a bit before resting there. His eyes fluttered shut again almost against his will, but he managed to mumble, “But that’s not all, right?”

Kuja paused. “What isn’t all?”

“You don’t trust me, but that’s not the only reason you won’t share the bed.”

The silence was answer enough, and the magic felt a bit more painful than Zidane figured it had to be (which he figured he had coming), but he lost consciousness fast enough that it didn’t matter at all.

  
**VII**  


He felt like he had been punched in the stomach, oxygen fleeing his lungs rapidly as he tried to convince himself not to panic --

(and _oh,_ his brain told him, _isn’t this familiar?)_

Getting his memories back seemed like he was actually watching them play out, only from the point of view of an onlooker rather than a participant. It felt strange, watching himself as a child, no memories of anything before he had been gifted a soul at the tender age of one. But perhaps what startled him the most was Kuja, looking exactly the same then as he did now. Had Kuja never been a child? Had he been created as an adult? ‘Viewing’ later memories proved this hunch, as Garland and Kuja talked about the very same subject. It had started with Kuja complaining about Zidane, of course, pacing agitatedly in Garland’s lab.

“Why would you create an infant? All he does is cry and scream. I cannot possibly see how he could be useful.”

Garland had simply replied, “I have my reasons, Kuja. Someday you will understand. For now, just keep an eye on him.”

Kuja had looked more than disgusted at the idea, though he did as ordered and nothing more. Memories of nearly falling, or being eaten by fiends, or danger in any sense always ended with Kuja saving him, looking more disgruntled each time.

As Zidane pressed on through more memories, he saw himself grow older, though his relationship with Kuja didn’t change much, if at all. Kuja remained distant and disdainful about Zidane’s existence, and Zidane remained completely oblivious to Kuja’s opinion of him.

As soon as he had learned to walk, he followed Kuja around like a loyal dog, leading to the mage learning how to teleport himself, leaving the blond to fend for himself (but always returning if any real danger came). Once he learned how to talk, and ask questions, Kuja decided he’d had quite enough of babysitting entirely, and shoved the young genome off into Garland’s lab more often than not. 

From Garland, Zidane had learned his true purpose, and also the basics of fighting, though he was too young to put them in practice at that point. Looking back, Garland had been absolutely ruthless in his instruction -- he hadn’t understood as a child (and perhaps Garland hadn’t understood that babies did not operate on the same level as adults), but hearing the words as an adult left him shocked, and more than a little furious. He treated Zidane like nothing more than a tool, which didn’t surprise him, but when Kuja started staying on Gaia more and more, avoiding Garland, something told Zidane that his own experiences paled fantastically next to Kuja’s. Kuja had been an adult; could fight, could train, could be told of his purpose, and told that what he was doing was right. Could be manipulated. If Garland was still alive…

When Zidane watched himself turn four and Kuja find out the truth, Zidane saw himself be kidnapped and dropped on Gaia, memories pulled from him effortlessly. Kuja had looked livid, and Zidane couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t just been killed then. Then he noticed the haunted look on Kuja’s face years later, at their fateful reunion --

“Nightmares,” Zidane murmured, bolting awake and snatching at Kuja’s wrist, desperate to prevent him from fleeing, “you have nightmares from your past. That’s why you won’t --“

Sure enough, Kuja yanked his wrist out of Zidane’s grip with surprising force, though he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Zidane didn’t push or prod, unwilling to make Kuja feel as though he would be forced to answer. If he changed the subject, or pushed him away, the blond would let it lie, content now that he had an answer, though depressed at having been correct. He was split, torn between wondering what sort of experiences (and it hurt him that he couldn’t even say ‘childhood’ --) Kuja’d had growing up -- but also telling himself that if they were still enough to haunt him to the day, Zidane would be better off not knowing. Either way though, he would certainly not want to force the other male into anything, and so maintained his silence until the other made up his mind.

Kuja had either been reading his thoughts or just assumed them, because, with a tiny sigh, he compromised, speaking quietly. “Yes, something like that. Though more accurately, I suppose, would be to call them remembrances. Not really nightmares, given the fact that no part of them is fabricated. I did tell you that I barely made you forget anything, didn’t I? Your childhood was boring, by normal standards. A tad more dangerous, perhaps, and not exactly morally sound by Gaian ideals, but _boring_. It’s one of the reasons I dropped you on Gaia, among many others, not that I expect you would understand that from your memories. You did not learn nearly enough about me when you were a child.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Actually, I still don’t really know about you, Kuja. But I want to. Any chance I can make you see that I’m not just gonna turn you in or something?” He shifted (which made him realize abruptly just how much pain he was in from the spikes on Kuja’s greaves digging into him, though he ignored it as best he could), moving to sit on the bed next to the mage, staring intently at him. “Because I’m not going to. I know you won’t just accept what I’m about to say, but I do care about you, you know.”

Kuja nodded absently. “I know… Perhaps even more than you think you do.” He sighed again, not giving Zidane the chance to question his cryptic words, “But fine. Let me tell you just how different you and I are, Zidane, and then you can tell me what you really want to say.”

  
**VIII**  


Kuja had conjured some tea and two glasses out of seemingly nowhere, but before Zidane could even think about questioning it, the elder genome started speaking, voice flat and emotionless.

“As your memories showed you, I was not created as a child. I was ‘born’, if you will, as an adult. This is but one of many reasons that I do not -- could not, ever -- think of you as a brother, despite what Garland said in an attempt to make you give up and let he and I destroy Gaia. In case you ever did, allow me to provide another: we have no blood parents. Garland’s blood does not exist in either of us. The only physical traits we have in common are our tails and eye colour.”

As he spoke, he shifted, and Zidane abruptly realized that he’d never seen Kuja’s tail outside of trance, but wasn’t surprised to find it the same silver colour as his hair. Absentmindedly, he rested his fingers on it gently, only to have it twitch away and Kuja shoot him a glare. _’So it’s sensitive,’_ Zidane thought, then figured of course it was, it hardly spent any time exposed, usually hidden by magic. It probably had never gotten the chance to get used to the elements, or even such light touches against it, though he was sure he hadn’t hurt it. Still, at Kuja’s none-too-pleased glare, he dropped his hands back into his lap, suddenly asking, “Yeah, I was curious about that, actually. Why _do_ you look so different from the rest of us?”

“I was the prototype. I am the only one of my kind -- the rest of you were children and grew older normally. Though, besides yourself, I am the only one with a soul. Garland decided after my little stint that perhaps giving young genomes souls was a bad idea… Mikoto was planned for one, of course, as she was originally designed to be our replacement, but we... interrupted Garland before he could actually give her one. Regardless, as such, I am the eldest genome, and the only one with silver hair." Kuja laughed once, bitterly, "Fitting, isn’t it? The failed experiment gets silver while the star pupil gets gold…”

Zidane scowled, pushing the hand Kuja was holding his tea cup with out of the way before gripping his chin and forcing their eyes to meet. Kuja tried to jerk away, but Zidane was physically stronger, and Kuja gave up after a few seconds of pointless struggle. Their tails twined, though it was really more like Zidane’s wrapped itself around Kuja’s, and Zidane spoke, a little angrily, “Hey, don’t be like that. You’re definitely not a failure, Kuja.”

Kuja snorted, clearly not believing that. “I lost to you, did I not?”

“Well, not really. Your spell technically did kill us; the only problem was that it pitched you backward off the cliff, too --“ 

“-- and through the Crystal World, Memoria, the sky, and then all the way to the bottom of the Iifa tree. Fun, I must say,” Kuja interrupted, drawling sarcastically near the end, attempting to glare down Zidane’s fingers all the while.

Zidane blinked, awed by the realization. “Yeah, that’s true, isn’t it? Wow. How the hell did you survive? Not that I’m complaining, I mean. But anyway, it’s not like I was the only one fighting you, either. Four against one, and you still killed us all.”

Kuja tipped his head lightly (still trapped by Zidane’s gloved hand, which was really beginning to feel awkward, though Zidane was determined to make Kuja _listen_ to him, uncomfortable or not,) in acknowledgement. “I suppose that is true. But instead of saving Terra, I single-handedly destroyed it, and _that_ would certainly be considered failure in Garland’s eyes.”

“Well who cares what he thinks? He’s dead, so it’s not like his personal opinion on the matter should mean anything. But we’re totally getting off topic here.”

Kuja hummed, and Zidane finally released his chin, finally satisfied that he had driven his point home. Kuja squirmed a little further away, but didn’t comment on the overly-forward touch, which Zidane was thankful for. Kuja finally replied, “I’m not sure there was a topic to begin with.” 

Zidane grinned. “You were explaining ‘just how different we are’, in your words. I think.” 

“Ah, right.” Kuja nodded once, then continued, “So not only do we barely have any physical features in common and you are much less of a failure than I am-” seeing Zidane’s glare, he added, “-in Garland’s eyes, let’s talk about the rest of Gaia and how much they hate me, though it is a completely mutual feeling, of course. You are their hero, Zidane. I am their would-be ‘angel of death’, in Garland’s words. I saw nothing wrong with my actions. Our moral standpoints are completely different. Zidane, can’t you see, even personality-wise we share next to nothing in common.” Kuja’s eyes locked on the floor, posture tense as he admitted quietly, “It’s not that I don’t want to trust you, although admittedly there was that, it’s more like I cannot trust myself to.”

Zidane was momentarily stunned by the admission, but didn’t want to discourage any sort of talking between them at all, so he replied with a light tone, “We’re not _that_ different. I mean, we’re both actors, which was completely coincidental. We’ve both kidnapped royalty--” at that, Kuja smiled slightly, and the blond pressed on, relieved to see Kuja looking even somewhat happy, “-- and did you know that she said you were completely pleasant to her? Anyway, sure, you’re way more wordy than I am, and definitely a lot smarter, but we’re both stubborn as hell and can get way too gloomy sometimes.” Zidane inched a little closer, though didn’t reach for Kuja again, and continued, “And hey, you might not be Gaia’s hero, but you _have_ saved my ass literally more times than I can count, even if you didn’t want to, and you would have been the saviour of Terra had your plans succeeded. The only reason I ever even had the chance to stop you was because you dropped me on Gaia as a kid.” He nodded slowly, then continued on in a more serious tone. “So don’t act like you’ve never done anything good in the world, okay? I am not turning you in, and I will never push you away, okay? I promise.” His face dropped into a pleading expression, completely willing to show his true emotions -- “Can you trust me even a little?”

Anxious as Zidane was, Kuja's hesitation felt like it went on forever, but then Kuja nodded, eyes closed, and murmured, “I can try. But that was yet another difference between us. You are much more open than I am, with your thoughts and emotions… I suppose that is going to be one of the things that allows me to trust you, even if only a little.”

Zidane nodded, then stood and stretched. “Alright! Well then as much as I’d like to stay awake and talk to you, I am going to go to bed since I barely slept at all last night, as I’m sure you know.”

Kuja nodded, then smiled slightly, catching Zidane off guard. At his startled look, Kuja actually laughed, slightly, and the younger genome couldn’t help but stare, amazed at the sound he’d never heard. He sounded genuinely amused, and Zidane would have laughed with him if only he knew what had caused it. After clearing his throat, once, Kuja spoke up, smirking like a fiend:

“Looks as though you’ll get to sleep with me after all.”

  
**IX**  


The third night they had shared the bed, Zidane woke in the middle of the night with Kuja clutching at him.

At first he had been too tired to really register the pain of nails piercing his skin, but after his mind had several seconds to adjust, the pain came all at once and he nearly jerked his arm away before realizing that would hurt worse if Kuja didn’t let go. Forcing himself to relax and press a little closer, though it made no difference, Zidane gripped Kuja’s hand and carefully worked it free, only to have Kuja bolt awake and nearly knock Zidane out as he jerked back. They both froze, though Kuja’s face was buried in his pillow so Zidane couldn’t read his expression. Cautiously, he reached out to rest his hand on Kuja’s arm, but his nerve deserted him and he pulled it back instead. “You okay?”

Kuja nodded, and then abruptly turned and locked their gazes. Zidane blinked back, confused. “What? I’m fine, if that’s what that look is for. Really.” He held out his arm, where the bleeding was already slowing down, and grinned. “See?”

Kuja’s hand moved up to cover the wound, and Zidane closed his eyes to the cool wash of healing magic working it’s way through his skin. To his surprise though, Kuja was still staring intently at him when he opened his eyes again. Zidane hesitated before asking again, “… Seriously, what is it? You’re kinda freaking me out.”

“I’m surprised, of course.” Kuja replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I just put my nails through you in my sleep, and rather than be concerned about yourself, your first instinct is to ask _me_ if I’m alright.”

Zidane shrugged one arm, the other pinned below his body as he had rolled up on his side earlier. He nodded, replying, “Of course. You were having a nightmare, right? This isn’t that bad, I’ve definitely had worse, and it’s not like you did it on purpose or anything like that, so… How are you expecting me to react?”

Kuja scowled, one hand clutching tightly at the silken sheets below his fingers as he replied, “Like any sane person would –- I expected you would be at least irritated, if not attempting to move away from me.”

Zidane sighed, sensing another bout of Kuja’s gloomy mood coming on, “Why would I be upset? Like I said, it’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.” Zidane paused a moment, then continued on in a quiet but serious tone, “Listen, Kuja, you don’t have to feel like you need to be perfect around me. Seriously, it’ll take a lot more than a little spilled blood to drive me away from you. I figured you understood that by now –- I trust you, even if you don’t trust me… Or yourself.” 

Kuja visibly flinched at the end of Zidane’s statement, and Zidane moved closer, mustering up the courage he couldn’t before and pulling Kuja into a loose hug, arm around his waist, not wanting to make him feel trapped. Kuja tensed noticeably, but made no effort to pull away, and Zidane was patient enough to let Kuja figure out what he wanted to do. Eventually, Zidane was surprised by Kuja’s hand moving to rest lightly against his own -– not really returning the embrace, but certainly not pulling away from it. Kuja sighed, “Indeed, you are perceptive only at inconvenient times.”

Zidane hummed in agreement by way of response, closing his eyes again and was drifting off again when Kuja finally seemed to have reached the limit of how much physical contact he could tolerate and pulled away. Zidane didn’t chase him or ask anything else, content with the progress he’d made. Kuja hadn’t cast anything on him, and he was more than willing to consider that a victory. At least for now. He’d press again later, probably, when they woke up, but at the moment he was willing to drop it in favour of sleep. 

On the edge of consciousness, Zidane felt Kuja’s tail brush up against his own, and went back to sleep with a smile on his face.

  
**X**  


Weeks passed, Zidane finding himself being more and more allowed to ask questions and receive answers, and generally feeling like Kuja trusted him more and more as the days went on.

Zidane was incredibly pleased with the progress he was making, as well as somewhat relieved. He had been uncertain, at first, whether saving Kuja had been the right thing to do, and wondered if anything would ever even come of it, but he was now certain that he'd made the right call. Kuja looked happy -- not all the time, but his smiles came more freely, small but sincere. They also grew more comfortable with each other -- Kuja no longer tensed up any time Zidane so much as brushed their tails, instead relaxing or even smiling, and sometimes even initiated the small gestures. Still, that didn't mean things were necessarily perfect.

Kuja had been reading, stretched across a couch with overstuffed pillows, when Zidane had returned to him after hunting down some of the few remaining monsters again. Kuja had glanced up to see if he was injured, and Zidane grinned sheepishly at him in response -- he'd been caught off guard, and had a slash across his side. Thankfully not too deep, and Kuja sighed in irritation, but waved him over none-the-less. Zidane sat in front of him, on the very edge of the couch, barely on it at all, but Kuja shifted, sitting up and making room for him to squirm back after marking his page and shoving the book away.

Kuja's touch was gentle, not prodding the wounds, only carefully pouring the healing magic into them. As much as Zidane hated being injured, the healing part was nice -- Cure spells were always warm and comforting, and didn't hurt, even as flesh pulled itself closed, unlike a potion. Zidane relaxed, sagging back against Kuja’s chest, feeling warm and safe, and would probably have fallen asleep if he hadn’t been actively fighting it so he could thank Kuja after. 

The touch on his side stilled after a moment, and sleepily, Zidane asked, “… Hey, Kuja?”

Kuja hummed questioningly in response, and Zidane turned without thinking about it. Kuja’s lips were softer than he expected (and the fact that he _had_ expectations startled him a bit – when had _that_ happened?), even as Zidane pulled away quickly, suddenly awake, eyes averted and unexpectedly nervous. He opened his mouth – to do what, he wasn’t sure – thank Kuja? Apologize? – but Kuja interrupted him with a quiet laugh, “So, it seems you finally caught on.” 

Zidane made no effort to pull back any further, internally surprised about how unsurprised he was -- like he’d known about these feelings, deep down, but had only just been made aware of it. Kuja didn’t pull away either, which Zidane was silently thankful for. He laughed quietly at himself as he asked, “How long have you known?”

Kuja turned his face away, but he was smiling gently as he responded calmly, for once not playing at not knowing what Zidane was talking about, “Oh, only a few weeks now. I probably could have known earlier, but when it’s something you don’t even realize yourself, it does become harder for me to detect it.”

Zidane fidgeted anxiously, “And it didn’t bother you? Knowing that I wanted to…”

Kuja’s smiled seemed almost patient, if exasperated. “Would you still be here if it did?”

Zidane smiled, tension fading a bit. So Kuja didn’t hate him. Feeling somewhat reassured, he replied playfully, “That’s not a ‘no’.”

Kuja’s smile softened, playing along effortlessly, “It’s not a ‘yes’, either.”

Zidane leaned in, bumping their foreheads together and sighing. “Yeah.”

Kuja’s eyes slid shut, and Zidane allowed himself to relax, closing his own eyes as well. Zidane wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, but he knew it was longer than Kuja usually tolerated, which made him happy. Kuja really wasn’t going to kill him for the kiss, like he feared. Zidane grinned suddenly, and Kuja must have sensed it because he pulled back slightly, enough to make Zidane open his eyes. The peaceful mood stayed, though Zidane was starting to feel a little anxious despite the clear lack of Kuja’s disapproval. He still had to be sure, and nervously, he asked, “So, we’re okay?”

Kuja’s smile stayed, though it seemed to grow somewhat fonder, and his hand came up to rest against Zidane’s face, making the latter lean into the touch, “Really, Zidane, where is this uncertainty coming from? We are fine. Really.” Zidane wasn’t sure if Kuja was just trying to prove a point or something, but this time Kuja was the one who closed the distance between them. 

The second kiss was much nicer – Zidane had been too anxious to do more than peck Kuja and withdraw, but the second one lingered, Kuja obviously nowhere near as insecure. In his defence, Zidane hadn’t had any idea how Kuja would react, while Kuja knew that Zidane wouldn’t react negatively. Still, with more time, Zidane found himself shifting to get closer, turning to press more into it. He was supporting his weight on one hand, not wanting to force Kuja to support him, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the other, but found the choice taken out of his hands (literally), as Kuja’s free hand gripped his own. 

Zidane wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually the need for air made him withdraw, reluctantly. It hadn’t been a particularly passionate kiss or anything, but it felt like it was right in its own way, and Zidane relaxed. They were okay, Kuja didn’t hate him (in fact maybe the opposite, though neither of them said anything about their own thoughts), and he wasn’t about to be kicked out or blown up. Now, certainly, Kuja had to believe that Zidane wouldn’t turn him in, or away, if there had been any doubt left before that. The thought made Zidane grin, “So, I guess you trust me at least that much.” 

Kuja inhaled deeply, smiling serenely and resting their foreheads together again as he replied, “I trust you.”


End file.
